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’
Nothing
-
-
a
cold
!
The
last
pneumonia
left
me
with
a
cough
,
but
it
’
s
nothing
.
’
He
kept
distant
from
her
,
and
would
not
come
any
nearer
.
She
went
fairly
often
to
the
hut
,
in
the
morning
or
in
the
afternoon
,
but
he
was
never
there
.
No
doubt
he
avoided
her
on
purpose
.
He
wanted
to
keep
his
own
privacy
.
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He
had
made
the
hut
tidy
,
put
the
little
table
and
chair
near
the
fireplace
,
left
a
little
pile
of
kindling
and
small
logs
,
and
put
the
tools
and
traps
away
as
far
as
possible
,
effacing
himself
.
Outside
,
by
the
clearing
,
he
had
built
a
low
little
roof
of
boughs
and
straw
,
a
shelter
for
the
birds
,
and
under
it
stood
the
live
coops
.
And
,
one
day
when
she
came
,
she
found
two
brown
hens
sitting
alert
and
fierce
in
the
coops
,
sitting
on
pheasants
’
eggs
,
and
fluffed
out
so
proud
and
deep
in
all
the
heat
of
the
pondering
female
blood
.
This
almost
broke
Connie
’
s
heart
.
She
,
herself
was
so
forlorn
and
unused
,
not
a
female
at
all
,
just
a
mere
thing
of
terrors
.
Then
all
the
live
coops
were
occupied
by
hens
,
three
brown
and
a
grey
and
a
black
.
All
alike
,
they
clustered
themselves
down
on
the
eggs
in
the
soft
nestling
ponderosity
of
the
female
urge
,
the
female
nature
,
fluffing
out
their
feathers
.
And
with
brilliant
eyes
they
watched
Connie
,
as
she
crouched
before
them
,
and
they
gave
short
sharp
clucks
of
anger
and
alarm
,
but
chiefly
of
female
anger
at
being
approached
.
Connie
found
corn
in
the
corn
-
bin
in
the
hut
.
She
offered
it
to
the
hens
in
her
hand
.
They
would
not
eat
it
.
Only
one
hen
pecked
at
her
hand
with
a
fierce
little
jab
,
so
Connie
was
frightened
.
But
she
was
pining
to
give
them
something
,
the
brooding
mothers
who
neither
fed
themselves
nor
drank
.
She
brought
water
in
a
little
tin
,
and
was
delighted
when
one
of
the
hens
drank
.
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Now
she
came
every
day
to
the
hens
,
they
were
the
only
things
in
the
world
that
warmed
her
heart
.
Clifford
’
s
protestations
made
her
go
cold
from
head
to
foot
.
Mrs
Bolton
’
s
voice
made
her
go
cold
,
and
the
sound
of
the
business
men
who
came
.
An
occasional
letter
from
Michaelis
affected
her
with
the
same
sense
of
chill
.
She
felt
she
would
surely
die
if
it
lasted
much
longer
.
Yet
it
was
spring
,
and
the
bluebells
were
coming
in
the
wood
,
and
the
leaf
-
buds
on
the
hazels
were
opening
like
the
spatter
of
green
rain
.
How
terrible
it
was
that
it
should
be
spring
,
and
everything
cold
-
hearted
,
cold
-
hearted
.
Only
the
hens
,
fluffed
so
wonderfully
on
the
eggs
,
were
warm
with
their
hot
,
brooding
female
bodies
!
Connie
felt
herself
living
on
the
brink
of
fainting
all
the
time
.
Then
,
one
day
,
a
lovely
sunny
day
with
great
tufts
of
primroses
under
the
hazels
,
and
many
violets
dotting
the
paths
,
she
came
in
the
afternoon
to
the
coops
and
there
was
one
tiny
,
tiny
perky
chicken
tinily
prancing
round
in
front
of
a
coop
,
and
the
mother
hen
clucking
in
terror
.